


if every surface you touch is cold

by aphrodite_mine



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Gen, The Michael Scott Paper Company
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In fact, if we stay here,” he lets it build up, making eye contact with Pam, and attempting it with Ryan, “we might DIE.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	if every surface you touch is cold

On Tuesday, the heater breaks. Ryan informs them both that it’s not building-wide because he has a buddy in the insurance office upstairs, and they’re _totally fine_ , according to his numerous texts. Pam tries not to glare at him as she unhooks her coat from the rack, sliding her arms in one at a time. Her skin is already tinged blue around the edges. Maybe they can sue.

After ten minutes of shivering at his desk and listening to Ryan complain to his friend upstairs via cell phone, Michael jumps up and claps his hands together. “We should _definitely not_ stay here,” he half-shouts, using his motivational-speaker voice. “In fact, if we stay here,” he lets it build up, making eye contact with Pam, and attempting it with Ryan, “we might _DIE_.”

“I doubt that—“ Pam begins before Ryan cuts her off in a dramatic display of flipping his phone closed and waving his arm in front of her face.

“I’m pretty sure this should go down in the books as extenuating circumstances—day off with pay material. Right, Michael?” Ryan is already packing his man-bag to go.

Michael stammers something about pesos, but Ryan’s already gone and the line falls flat. He looks at Pam, who really is starting to look creepily pale, and shrugs. “Maybe we should give this one to the natives.” He nods solemnly, but Pam is pretty positive he has no idea what he’s saying.

“There’s still a few calls we should make, Michael,” Pam insists, rubbing her hands together under the table. “That sale lurking around the bend…”

Michael smiles slowly. “Like a cowboy and the horizon! We’ll ride into the sunset—the sunset of sales!”

Pam manages a smile while trying to suppress a voice inside tapping her on the shoulder, grinning, and shouting _That’s what she said!_. “Just like that,” she says instead, and rolls her chair over to Michael’s desk, managing not to bump into anything on the way. “See—“ she points at a chart half-buried under post-it notes, “We still have callbacks!”

They spend a moment making silent judgment of the names listed before them, and Michael says one aloud, deciding that they sound like a winner. Pam reaches for the phone, ready to spin her sales pitch, but Michael stops her. He smiles a little, like, a _real_ smile, and hands her his gloves—monstrous leather things that dwarf her hands but do make them feel warmer. “I’ll dial, you talk,” he says, hitting ‘Speaker.’

“So long as there’s no pretend earthquakes this time.” She shoots him a warning look, smile lurking around the edges.

“Buzz-kill.”


End file.
